Scarring of the Heart
by Monday Fish
Summary: A letter is given to Draco


The day Ron died I was tearing through the halls before I could even register a thought. I raced past the staring crowds and all I could think of was how callous I was. How could I have done that to my best friend. Let him die without me by his side. I must have looked the fool. A seventh year, a man making such a ruckus and noticing nothing but the path his feet led him. I pushed open the great wooden doors of the dining hall and she was standing before I even rounded the first table. You were too once I think about it. I threw myself into her open arms and the tears flowed. They haven't stopped yet. I could feel the damp seep into my shoulder where she rested her head.  I could hear dry sobs that I didn't realize were mine resound in the air. I could feel her shuddering silently against me.

In that moment, I knew she forgave me, undue as it was. She and I shared the moments of all the years we'd missed. All the vacant stares. The awkward hesitation. The blatant delicate hatred.  I wished I could take it all back, I admit it freely. In that moment I wished there had never been an us, a you and I. Thank god she welcomed me in that embrace or I don't know what I'd have done. I would have gone mad with sorrow. I would have killed myself. And then maybe I'd have regretted it, but I'm sure people always do.

Nothing existed except us, but I knew the hall was silent. People looking around nervously. Only a few dare look directly at us the tears streaming down their own faces. What kind of a world is it where we are uncomfortable to look upon raw emotion.

And you, I know there were tears on your face too, though not for the fallen. You knew as I did that the regret would eat me alive. You could feel the oncoming waves of guilt and lonely nights and… well. I'm sure you always knew. That my place was with them. With her now. I love her, not like I love you. Yes I love you, forever and always but I'll never be able to face you again. I don't know any kind of healing that could save our love. Any kind of magic.

Magic started it all, you and I. I remember our duel. I'd always had a fierce passionate regard towards you. Though as I'm sure you know best of all it was such a tangible form of hatred that I couldn't help adore you. Adore your dry witty attitude. Your eyes. Your lips. Your hair. I can remember running my fingers through that hair. Our duel. It was as silly as anything I'd ever done as a child. My mind seethed with rage. That was the day that you… Ron. I miss him. He wasn't there to be my second this time. He was in the hospital wing. He always did have a hot temper when it came to you. You forsook your own second that night. The first bit of honour I'd ever seen from you. We stood at ready and I looked into your eyes. And all I could think about, being a young boy, was how much I wanted to run my hands down your spine and make you shiver with pleasure. It wasn't the first thought of such nature I'd had. And you'd always intrigued me. I conceded. And the look on your face was worth it. It was a mix of hatred, seething anger, surprise, maybe even admiration. Though I probably imagined that. And in the dead center of it all you were calm. You're always calm.

The days after I was increasingly aware of you. Things started to slip away. You're left handed. You hate broccoli and sweet potatoes. You like trifle a good deal. And your tongue is a flicker of pink ecstasy as you get up the bits you missed on your top lip. I think maybe, as I write this now, I am exaggerating. But things do that sometimes. You're left handed and all your quills are spelled with an expensive self-inking charm. Your clothes too were expensive. Your demeanor and stance were expensive. And the price to pay for loving the sight of you was expensive as well.

Hermione and – they noticed quickly. Probably mostly Hermione's sleuth work. He never picked up on subtle details. They were a couple then. I never explained myself and they never asked. It didn't take long for them to find out who and what was taking up all my attention. Any fool could tell. A few glances from her came my way. They were pleas and looks that saw right into me and begged me. They knew what you were just as I did and they couldn't understand. I don't blame them. I didn't understand. All I knew was that the stares didn't bother me, and I didn't pay them heed because they weren't glances from you. Stares from you. Caresses from you.

Needless to say I was distracted. I'd read once a muggle book on one of Dudley's high forgotten shelves, pushed back and bent in a corner with a large forgotten remote-control tank thrown on top. I read once that love was blind. That it made people do crazy things. That it was wonderful and horrible at the same time. I never believed them. It was all very trashy and hopelessly boring at the time. But I never considered myself in love with you. I put it down under infatuation and left it at that. If I had thought myself in love I might have saved myself. I might have realized what I was doing. I was slowly killing everything I'd built up around me. The lust of the forbidden fruit, and the snake that tempts you into its coils.

Eventually even you noticed, much to my chagrin. For then I had to spend a lot less time looking at you and a lot more time avoiding your own puzzled glances. That was even more distracting than before. I'd wake up from dazes as Hermione shook me on the shoulder because class was over. And I'd look down and I'd written nothing and heard nothing and thought nothing but thoughts of you. It was silly really. On the third day you approached me. You suspected I was planning something. You threatened idle things about your father's power or something. I can't quite recall. Your voice was an entirely new sensation to me and honestly I couldn't have repeated a thing you said in the whole conversation.

It went on like that. And I'm sure you know. So I won't bother. But eventually for some reason unbeknownst to me and at a time that I couldn't specify, you began to return the fleeting glances. And they weren't ones of puzzlement anymore. And I'll tell you what. I got scared. I was a little boy who suddenly wasn't being denied some dark fantasy he held. It was real and there. And it _scared_ me. So of course I retreated. Denial. Funny thing how that is. And then it was you lusting after me. And you are far less timid than I ever was or will be. I think that it became almost a game to you. You were always like that, once you had a taste of something you had to have it. Own it. Conquer it.

It would have been agonizing to any outsider, our games. I for one, looking back, would like to have just smacked myself up a little and shouted. There were meetings and confrontations. Too many to be coincidental. In between classes. Just outside the Gryffindor common room. In the hallways. You never let anyone else know, you were always better at hiding things than I was. Hermione noticed my change in attitude, I was quick to be startled and I wore entirely too confused looks on my face. I paid attention now in class, more or less. But too often my eyes would flick to the other side of the room and you'd be watched me with calculated glances behind half closed eyelids. Merlin you were sexy.

And then there were those quick, forced, powerful kisses. Quickly shared in the hallway. You'd initiate and I'd dutifully melt under your touch. Then as soon as you stopped I'd be a rabbit in headlights and you'd smirk as I stuttered and blushed and collected the books that I had dropped and then turn tail and leave in a hurry. You had the power again. All I could think was I was in over my head and oh god how those kisses were like heaven. I think you enjoyed how flustered I became. I know you enjoyed how flustered I became. I'd recognize the same enjoyment later, in you, because you were not all ice and steel, and I learned to love your deep blushes and the flush of your skin as you called my name in the height of passion. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our relationship finally started when I started avoiding you. Like the plague. If I saw any sign I'd turn right around and go as far away as I could. I was late for a good many classes that way. I was safe once I was actually in the class. And you didn't even look at me then and I could sense the way you were fuming beneath your bored exterior. This thrilled me, but I started missing you. I could only take so much pleasure from knowing I had enough power over you to make you angry like that. But then I always had. So I was pleased when you started following me. More games for me too play. But this time I was in power.

And then one day I waited for you. All our classes had ended for the day and I just waited in one of the less used hallways because I knew you'd find me. And you did. And you were furious. And then I don't remember what because my hands were on you and yours on me and we were ravishing each others mouths. Our tongues lashing and our teeth clumsily bumping together. I wish I could say it was graceful but it wasn't. Two hormonal teenage boys certainly weren't graceful. But that wasn't at all the thoughts I was thinking in that moment. No, I wasn't thinking anything at all except about how good and right you felt. The heat enveloped us and I moaned into your mouth and you did the same, I felt the tremors of it travel down my spine. You pushed me away then. And you smirked. You picked up your things and you walked down the hallway. Touché.

I wasn't worried. I knew you'd be back. And you were, sometimes you'd seek me out and other I'd seek you out. Our game had reached a new level. It was wonderful, I remember. And one of the singular most distracting things I'd ever known. It was my first kisses you know. I know they weren't yours. But I still like to think they were the first real kisses you'd ever received. Whatever that exactly meant. It was about this time that he caught us. One day in the hallway, it was bound to happen. And it makes sense that it was him. It would be wouldn't it? And they'd known already of course. Coming to class late with swollen lips and hair mussed about. But this was the cold hard proof and from than on I was an enemy of the Gryffindor table. Temperamental lot, I'd tell myself. I'd say, All I need is you. And in some ways I did, but I still missed them.

You probably had problems of your own, ones I didn't think of. I can't imagine what it must be like being in Slytherin and seeing a Gryffindor. Well I think we were seeing each other, I don't know if I'd go quite so far to say it aloud though. Did they hurt you, I'd ask. And I knew they did because your skin could hide nothing. I saw the large bruises and welts. Let's stop this, I'd say. You wouldn't respond except to kiss me fiercely and I'd lose any thought at all and I'm sure that became useful for you. Once I saw them. They were circling you, so like a Slytherin, to attack in packs. No offense but I'll never gain an affinity for them. And it took all my self-control not to go try and fight them all back. But it would have been worse for you if I did, and you looked straight at me briefly and told me so. I stayed though, and it seemed the worst beating you'd had yet, but I learned later that you knew a few minor healing spells and that the beatings were all like that. You just managed to clean the blood before I'd see you next.

That night I came to your room under my cloak. As soon as I took it off, I came up behind you and just held you, burying my face in your hair. You weren't very responsive, I was worried of your regret. I hugged you closer. I wanted to talk about it. You didn't. You kissed me, a method of shutting me up that had worked so well in the past. That night I wanted to take your pain away. And I couldn't think of anything but as my hand slid up your shirt and I caressed the soft skin I found there. I removed your tie and eventually fumbled with the buttons of your shirt. You were entirely encouraging. And I was kissing down your neck and suckling bits here and there. I remember you liked being nibbled on your ears as I whispered sweet nothings never to be remembered or forgotten. Do you still?

You let me lead you to a chair where I think I pushed you in a bit more roughly than was needed and I settled myself with my knee between your legs and I leaned in as close as I could get. Finally I became less aware of the feel of your skin under my hands and more aware of the pressure against my thigh and mine to match that surely pressed in to your own. I had removed my own shirt some time ago so we stood in nothing but our school trousers and I think I had one sock still on. I caught you in a kiss as I sunk my hands lower to fumble with the button there. I think it was to muffle your protest that I'd thought you'd give. There wasn't any though so I needn't have worried.

They came off with no trouble and I remember even in the heat of it all I clearly thought how beautiful you were. That was the first time I saw you blush and honestly it surprised me. I looked you over from top to bottom. I remember your toes were curled apprehensively. I grinned wickedly then and looked directly in your eyes. You're beautiful I said. And you were. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, like the delicate little stained glass butterflies that my aunt kept on the top of the cupboard in the living room. I used to sit and look at them all the time. And I could sit looking at you all day, I know I could. And I did later. Your blush deepened but you kept eye contact and made some remark like don't you forget it, or was there ever any doubt, or a sarcastic I never knew you cared.

I smiled, ignoring this and went back to trailing my teeth along the curve of your neck and running my hands over you, everywhere but where you were begging to be touched. I don't know where I ever learned to be such a tease. But your begs and whimpers were shooting right down into the pit of my stomach and below. By that time you were arching and trying to rub up against me, or anything to relieve the flame that was surely flickering inside and definitely evident on the outside. I finally gave up and trailed a finger down your length. A shout and a repressed shudder, and then my hand was around you. I moved a thumb to your tip and glided through the moisture collecting there and swirled in dizzying circles. You thrust against my hand trying to make me take more but I was teasing again and dry moans were coming from deep in your throat. Finally I gave in. That was the first night you ever called me by my first name.

You glowed with the aftermath and you looked simply content with your eyes closed and the faint blush against your cheeks. That was when I learned again that you were completely unpredictable. Your eyes snapped open, the silver sparkling with cunning mischief. I was startled as you stood and pushed me back harshly and I tripped and fell onto your bed that had been a sparse few feet away.

The passion flickered in your eyes. A deep raging, all-consuming passion and hunger. It sends chills down my spine even now. You were much less clumsy than me. You slid your hands over spots I didn't even know I possessed, and in just the right way. I shivered under your hands and cried out. It was amazing, you were so sure of yourself. You knew how to elicit every response from me. In a blur of heightened senses I awoke enough to see you poised on the brink of entry. Looking into my eyes, searching for permission. My heart burst for you than, if I could give you more than what I was I would have. Your eyes were amazing, so soft, and hard, and light and dark. They spoke volumes and I was moved by the sincerity. I must have looked stunned because you looked like you were beginning to worry and started to pull away. I caught your face in a hand as you tried and I turned you back. I looked straight into your eyes and I kissed you softly on your lips. You shivered. Please, I whispered and I guided you back into position. The lust in your eyes was powerful when you eased in for the first time. Despite the preparation I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out from the pain. You looked alarmed yourself but you rubbed my cheek and whispered comforting words as you rocked back and forth. And than pain was replaced with pleasure.

You took me right then and there and it was the best thing that ever happened I think. I felt so _whole_ again, so right. And loved. I won't go into detail because I can't even begin to describe the feeling, and I don't want to ruin it by putting it on words, I can only hope you felt the same and that you know that I mean.

I have to admit. I wrote that bit so that you'd miss me when I'm gone. I am a selfish bastard aren't I. But this isn't meant to be easy. If you could see the many drafts and crumpled parchment pieces that lay around me as I write this you'd maybe understand how much I love you. As is, I don't want to keep anything from you. I want to tell you everything.

After that night there were many more. We were both happy with this development because we could pretend that our relationship was purely about the sex. Of course we wouldn't admit this to ourselves at the time. It was better to be blissfully ignorant.

And we were, ignorant. While I was so involved with you I didn't notice anything going on around me. Sure, I never really was all that perceptive. But even I didn't pick up on the way Dumbledore started acting his age, looking tired and withered. I didn't notice or care when they talked to the school about Voldemort because I was too busy staring at you. Voldemort. Yes, he was back, again. He was attacking muggles this time, just at random, apparating all over the continent killing them. Completely wiping out whole cities. It was devastating. But I didn't notice. The savior of the wizarding world and I didn't even notice. I was too busy falling in love with my enemy's son.

I wish that it were that simple, I always have. I know you know that, because I've told you, later. But I just wanted to reinforce it. I've never wanted this fame and responsibility. I'll always wonder what Dumbledore was really trying to do. He chose my life for me. I was a weapon, I hardly knew love, and he knew that meant that I'd cherish it more. The little that I had. I don't mean to say he would make sacrifices, he's a good man really, but he was doing it for greater good. Or at least I tell myself. As it is, I try to channel my anger towards the one ghost of a man who had caused it all. Taken my parents, Ron, Sirius, Cedric, Severus. It's too much. But the list goes on, all the countless muggles and wizards alike that I'll never know. One day I'll try and put it behind me, to tell myself it's not my fault, but for now it's only good ammunition.

The day Sirius and Severus was taken. Lord. I didn't know what I'd do, they were killed while they were out spying for us. FOR US! They died risking everything they had. They lost it all, and I don't even have the guts to take revenge. I'm ashamed I didn't go racing right out of Dumbledore's office with the news out of the castle and slaughter that bastard. I suppose that's not true, I'll take revenge, I intend to kill him, I will kill him. It used to be a matter of 'or die trying'. It's not anymore; I will not die before my friends and family have been avenged. I'll kill him.

I suppose I'm getting off topic, that's not what I wanted to talk about. But it does relate back to you in big ways, because once the shock hit home I'm sure you saw it too. I completely shut myself down. The only person who could even talk to me was you and Dumbledore. You didn't know what to do or say. At that point I'd never asked you where your loyalties lay. It's one of those things that I tried to ignore. Pretended I didn't need to know. My loyalties are with my family, you said, I can at least give them that. I don't think I'll ever understand your sense of loyalty. I was furious, and upset, and wounded in ways I didn't know I could feel. You assured me that you didn't believe in anything Voldemort said. But. That's all it was, a reassurance that had no meaning. You'd stay by your father? Didn't you see all those people dying? I saw them.

The summer came and Dumbledore left the school open with an invitation to all students and those in need of shelter. Most of the Slytherins left. You left. It broke my heart. But it steeled me to the task at hand, and I had nothing left, only hate. A weapon.

Dumbledore also opened the school to any wizard that was in need. Many men women and children came at the call and rooms in Hogwarts I didn't know existed were opened for all the guests. The castle was full that winter, but it was little more than empty. The apprehension and tension hung in the air, thick enough to cut. There was dead silence almost everywhere you went. And everywhere _I_ went people were giving me these _looks_. Looks that were of pity, or of hope, or admiration. I didn't understand these; I had shut down and cut off all emotion. Those pleading faces will haunt me forever.

This is about the time when Dumbledore decided to play his cards. He pulled strings here and there and suddenly we had wizards coming and going from Hogwarts at all times. Many men and women that I knew well left and never came back. It was an all out war now. The only problem was, Dumbledore wasn't vicious enough to meet the attacks. Not stealthy enough. You can't beat Voldemort without stooping to his level. Every time I thought like this, I'd think of you. You were the only person I think who might have put a stop to all this. I'd never have risked you, no, but you might have. But I always quickly stifled such thoughts and returned to the things at hand.

Then it was my turn. Dumbledore called on me, I was to go out and lead them. Lead them? I'd never lead anyone in my life. And now he wanted to put me at the head of an army of sorts? Put me in charge of their lives? Later I'll give this whole thing some introspection but now, I think I just agreed, and then I was packing. To leave to fight, which is what I had been made for right? I was a symbol of hope, and destined to be the leader, and kill him. It was a risk Dumbledore made, if he lost me, what would happen to everyone else?

I couldn't help thinking about everything I'd heard that related to magical war in books. Not textbooks, muggle fiction books. I couldn't help imagining me sitting in a tent and traveling with a small army equipped with swords and rapiers and the like. To tell the truth, it thrilled me in a strange way. I knew it wouldn't be like that though. But I felt… important. Is that wrong? For the first time in my life I wasn't being babied. I was to go fight. I am to go fight. That sounds good right? I'll be like a general. I hope you'll be proud. I hope I don't have to kill you or your father. I couldn't take either responsibility. I think I've removed myself from the situation, it all seems so surreal.

But I'm leaving now, and I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I certainly hope I don't anytime soon… no I hope I see you, I just hope I don't see you where I think you are. I'm completely off track here and I've lost whatever it was I meant to say, but as the train leaves in an hour and I still have goodbyes to say and this is the longest letter I managed than I guess this is it. I won't re-read it, anything I said should be unedited. This is me bearing my soul to you. Maybe I'll write when the war is over, when he's dead. Until then I won't have any soul to spare.

I love you.

I love you Draco Malfoy, don't you ever forget it. I'll come to you when this is over. You might not see me but I'll be there, to check on you one last time. I hope you're happy then. I know you will be, you'll have a normal life. With young lovers who will adore you. Young dazzling lovers who will captivate your heart. Friends and family that love you. A house with a white picket fence. Alright maybe not, I know you better than that, you'll like in a huge mansion somewhere, but either way, maybe you'll own some chickens. I've always associated family life with chickens, maybe it's because Ron had so many at his house. That was my real home, besides Hogwarts. Maybe my dream for you is a far cry from reality. In fact I don't think you'd even like all that, but it's _my_ dream for myself that I'll never have, and that's the best thing I know so I wish it upon you. I wish you will always be happy and safe Draco. With all my heart I love you.

-Harry Potter

Draco finished his narrative and he rolled the parchment back up and slid it in the little ribbon it had come in. The edges were weathered and parts of the ink at the bottom of the letter were soaked in tears and the little splatter of faded gradient ink all but made reading impossible. But he knew what had been written there. He placed the little bundle on the gnarled wooden desk in front of him.

The fire had turned to a dull glow of embers as he read and it cast the deep green room into shadow. Ancient bookcases and shelves lined the walls and each of them was layered in books. Draco had read them all. In front of his desk were two large comfy armchairs. Their upholstery was a deep burgundy and where the fabric met together to create the shapes that covered the chair golden studs ran along it. Beyond that and next to the fireplace was a similar armchair and couch and a small square golden wood coffee table. The patterns and grooves in the table were formed in intricate Celtic knots and it was one of Draco's favorite pieces in his home. The small carpet covering that area atop the wooden slats was a deep green to match the walls interlaced with silver markings, one of the only things that Draco still had in his customary school colours.

"You always were a dramatic one," he said quietly and he didn't bother to wipe the tears that had fallen from his eyes. The figure on the couch was hard to make out in the dying embers. It hadn't moved even a muscle the whole time Draco read. Now the man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his arms on his knees and made a quiet acknowledging sound.

"I waited for you, Harry Potter," Draco just barely whispered smiling sadly.

Harry shifted again and it brought the left half of his face into the light. His own cheeks glistened with tears. A fresh scar graced his cheek and continued to his chin. The new skin was pale against his face.

"Why," he said. His voice crackled with disuse and emotion.

"The young lovers weren't pretty enough," Draco joked, a small smile tugging at his lips. Harry scoffed and Draco made his way to the other mans side and sat down. He looked into the other mans eyes. They were duller than he remembered.

"Was it horrible?" Draco asked. He lifted his hand and hesitated before holding it to Harry's face and running a thumb down the new scar. Harry closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth.

"It was, Draco. I'm glad you didn't see it," He said quietly. Draco shifted closer and encircled his left arm around Harry's back and used his other hand to gently guide the man's face to his shoulder. Harry stiffened but Draco rubbed his back in slow lazy circles. Then Harry took in a shuddering breath and started shaking with violent sobs as he cried on his lover's shoulder and belonged.


End file.
